


In the Eye of the Alebrije

by imma_redshirt



Series: Little Stories [1]
Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Gen, grateful hector, protective pepita
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 12:55:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13811637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imma_redshirt/pseuds/imma_redshirt
Summary: Pepita is fierce in her protectiveness of her family. It stems from Imelda’s own protectiveness and concern, Héctor thinks. Her incredible love for all of her familia.It just never occurred to him that the same blanket of protectiveness would one day fall over him as well.





	In the Eye of the Alebrije

**Author's Note:**

> Moving this on over from Tumblr to keep all my writings together. Added a teeny bit more, since it started out as a short writing exercise before class. I might end up adding a couple more oneshots because I would love to see more interactions between Héctor and Pepita. 
> 
> If I've made any mistakes, please let me know!
> 
> Also, another note: please please please ignore that title, oh man, titles do not come easily to me.

Pepita is fierce in her protectiveness of her family. Héctor has known this for decades, since the first time she roared in his face when he tried to speak to Imelda all those years ago. The force behind the bellow had been enough to knock his hat and almost his head off.

And now, when he’s with his family, accompanying them on their daily errands around the city, he notices that a massive glowing presence follows close behind. The glimmer of green and the shimmer of her folded wings flashing out of the corner of his eye, the glow of her watchful eyes visible on top of whatever building was close by. 

The low rumble of a contented purr at home as she lay curled up on the Rivera apartments.

It stems from Imelda’s own protectiveness, concern, and rule over the family, he thinks. Her incredible love for all of her familia.

It just never occurred to him that the same blanket of protectiveness would one day fall over him as well.

He first noticed it when he was out alone one day, walking briskly down the street a few blocks from home, a gaggle of people following in his wake.

He didn’t usually have a problem with fans. He loved his fans. But these people, this mix of tabloid journalists and Ernesto loyalists, were being real _jerks._ He didn’t want to fight, and he was afraid that if he stuck around to listen to them, he would have to.

“Señor Rivera!” One journalist called out, rushing ahead of the rest of his compadres. “Just one question! If you knew De la Cruz had stolen your songs, why didn’t you confront him years ago? Señor Rivera–”

“Por _favor!_ ” Héctor said, finally coming to a stop and rubbing a defeated hand down his face. “I already told you, amigo, I don’t want to answer your questions. I don’t have time! I’m very busy guy–”

“Busy remaining at home?” The journalist began scribbling in a notepad, ignoring Héctor’s glare. “You’ve been quite the homebody lately, Señor! Why haven’t you held a concert for your fans? It’s been weeks! Is it because De la Cruz–”

“Look–”

“In a recent interview, De la Cruz said–”

“I don’t _care_ what he said–”

“Pero Señor–”

"Señor Rivera!" Someone else called out, and the group that had lagged behind was suddenly there, crowding around Héctor. 

Raising his hands before him, Héctor backed away, ignoring the questions and accusations (someone was accusing him of goading Ernesto to murder him and _that_ deserved a good punch if you asked him.) But they moved forward, closing in, and Héctor suddenly felt breathless and lost, and was ready toss his dignity out the window to turn and run for home. He _didn't want to deal with this!_

The sudden gust of wind was the only warning.

Pepita swept in from above, massive paws landing just feet from the journalist, and the ground _shook._ Héctor stumbled back with a yelp, but the alebrije’s glowing snout was not pointed at him.

The winged feline had landed so Héctor was blocked from the journalists' view and the rest of the tag alongs. One wing was stretched out, the glowing maroon feathers like a curtain in front of Héctor, so Héctor was unable to see the groups reaction when Pepita roared.

He heard it, though. _Dios_ did he hear it.

The roar would have raised goosebumps on his arms if he’d still had skin, and the shriek of a petrified journalist made him wince almost sympathetically, because he knew exactly what the guy was seeing. A wide, gaping maw and massive sharp fangs, and glowing yellow eyes that promised many _many_ pains upon pains upon even _more_ pains.

Holding on to his hat, which had almost been blown off in the rush of wind from Pepita’s landing, Héctor looked up for Imelda sitting magnificently on Pepita’s back–-but she wasn’t there.

Blinking, confused, Héctor took a harried step backwards when Pepita turned her head to look at him, wings folding in on her sides.

A low rumbling reverberated through his bones, and it took him a good while longer than necessary to realize she was purring.

“Ah, am I glad to see _you!_ ” He said, and raised a tentative hand. Pepita pushed her snout forward into his palm, and he petted her with a laugh. 

He was forced to step back again when a sleek wing lowered towards him, and he immediately scrambled up onto her back. Atop the muscular feline shoulders, he was able to look down and see that the gang of journalists and Ernesto super fans had retreated about a mile down the street and were watching with wide eyes. With a snort, the alebrije crouched, roared in their direction and sent them scattering every which way, before leaping into the air with a strong sweep of her maroon wings.

Héctor dove forward and clung to the bright fur under him, fists buried in the luminescent green bristles. The last time he’d been taken for a ride on Pepita, he’d been wrapped around her tail and he’d wanted _off_ the crazy ride.

But as the wind rushed by him, Pepita steady and strong underneath him, the Land of the Dead a blur of colors down below-–it wasn’t so bad, he realized. He carefully scratched behind Pepita’s ear and grinned. The anxiousness that had build up in his chest was gone, and he could finally breathe easy. He heaved a relieved sigh.

Home was visible only a few buildings away. Imelda and their family, and the roof where Pepita liked to perch. He didn’t know when the alebrije’s protective tendencies had expanded to include him, but he was grateful for it.

Now if only she would maybe stop all the fancy twists and turns while he was clinging to her back hundreds of feet in the air, that would be great, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
